Thirty-one

“Pater is sending me back to our school today.”

“Our school?” Rian asked.

“You’ll come, won’t you?”

Rian was dismayed. “Now? With you?”

“No, no,” Geoffrey assured him, “Not until things are ... complete.”

“Complete,” the boy said, his voice dull, his eyes lost for a moment their luster.

“I’m sorry for you. You must know that.”

“Yes ... thank you.”

The boys were quiet for a time. Geoffrey looked up into the brightening sky.

“Bright enough for collecting firewood, I guess.”

“Yes,” Rian agreed. “Let’s get started. We’ve two priests to gather for.”

And then they heard the complaints of the village girl who couldn’t be far away at all.

“Take your hands off me!” she shouted.

The boys turned to each other, and then ran to the corner of a cottage where they saw the girl pushing away from a man in rags. He grasped her arm and held her tight. She fought back with her other fist.

The man grumbled, “Vixen, I’ll teach you to ignore me.” And he pulled her close, “Give a kiss, whore!”

Geoffrey yelled, “Unhand her!” and he closed in, too, Rian at his heels.

“Leave be, boy!” the man told him. “One kiss and I’ll be home.” His free hand rubbed across the girl in a sickening way.

For her part, the girl stayed calm. She aimed to strike the drunk–his sour breath and the dirt of him repelled her–but he had her fast in a wide grip now. Instead, she stamped hard on his foot and he let her go in surprise.

“Bitch!” and he made to grab her again, but Geoffrey pushed him away and the drunk nearly tumbled.

“Bitterfolk!” Geoffrey mouthed with disgust. Another man appeared, armed with a club.

“Turn away now, I tell you, or you’ll regret your filthy words and pawing.”

Rian raised his own voice, “Geoffrey, calm yourself. We want no fight with our brother.”

But the drunk would have none of the boy’s appeasement. “You’re not my brother.” The hatred boiled off of him.

“Friend then,” Rian offered, but the man only cursed them. And he stepped toward the girl.

Geoffrey moved to push him away again, but the man pulled a knife and aimed wildly for the young man’s side.

In a flash, Rian leapt in between them and took the blade. He was undone by it. No pain, but the warm blood began to fill his tunic with its stain. “Heaven,” he whispered as Geoffrey pulled his short sword.

The drunken man’s eyes widened and then he fell, too. Geoffrey had turned his blade so that he’d strike cleanly through the ribs and the man was dead in an instant.

The village girl screamed. She was terrified for Rian and ran for the boy’s father.

The other man nearly panicked when he saw the blood, but he managed a blow with his club. It landed squarely on Geoffrey skull. He ran away after.

From above, the rook saw Rian fall with his prayer. It took to wing, just as Geoffrey fell with all his dead weight.

Thirty

Who can tell what a bird might know?

How did this one on the rooftop get singled out when the rookery was abandoned? Was it told to remain? Or can a bird have a destiny? Did this rook, its claws gripping the sharp angle on top of a gabled window, know what would unfold after its clamor flew away?

Or does it just watch, feeding during the quiet hours, sometimes flying in slow circles above the village to exercise its wings?

This morning, the rook watched as Geoffrey approached. He met a young woman along the way, a girl who smiled and greeted the student, “I know you, isn’t that so, Lordling?”

“Well enough to know my heritage, I see, not that I share it so liberally.”

“Rian told me so.”

“I misremember telling him.”

“Oh, Rian knows things, he does,” she said. “And your signet ring tells its own tale.”

“I would fain to misremember you, but I still have the bruises.”

The girl laughed, flashed her bright teeth and filled Geoffrey with something like love. “You aren’t cross with me, are you, Lordling?”

“How can I be cross ... even as you continue to bowl me over?"

“He said you had a sweet tongue.”

“Who is that?”

“Rian, of course.”

“I misremember giving him even the hope.”

“Oh, that’s wicked of you. Really,” she frowned. “It drips of venom instead, I see.” And she huffed off, despite Geoffrey’s loud protestations.

She would not hear him.

His heart sank, but Rian came to his rescue.

“She flirts with you!” Rian whispered as he came close.

Geoffrey was startled, Rian approached so silently.

“She turns her back to me,” Geoffrey announced.

“And isn’t that a kind of flirting?”

Geoffrey watched the girl's backside and thought, "Yes, it may be."

Twenty-nine

Selden rose in the middle of the night to recite Vigils. He let Geoffrey sleep, a kindness he offered only so that the young man would be well rested come dawn. Perhaps with a little more sleep Geoffrey would argue less about his being sent back to the school. Selden had already made plans for the young man to accompany a merchant who was on his way to the Cities.

He lit a torch in the church. The candles, he was saving for the funeral rites. The beeswax burned slowly, but there was only the one full candle left. It would do for the altar–vigil and funeral, and some days of the octave.

“Funny how the details of living already confound the grieving,” Selden thought, for he had come to like the bishop quite a lot. “But we’ll live these days well, or try. The man’s not yet dead.”

Selden prayed until dawn. Geoffrey came into the church then and they took up Matins together, reciting the psalms of the day responsively, sharing the last when the verses were odd-numbered.

When they were finished, Geoffrey told the master, “The villagers are bringing food and wood to the bishop.”

“They’re generous people.”

“We’ll make do on our own, then?”

“They’re poor people, too.”

“Rian’s told me that his mother will cook for us,” Geoffrey shared.

“She’ll just cook for one,” Selden told him, which drew a hard look from the student.

“You can’t send me away.”

Selden chuckled, “I can command you if you like.”

“I’m needed here.” He was sincere, always puzzled that the master would not carry even a dagger.

“I would rather not argue, Geoffrey. I know you mean well, and I don’t discount the help you are to me, but someone needs to tell Primus that I’m to be here for more days.”

“Through the octave?”

“Yes. What’s a few more days?”

“That’s how I feel.”

“It can’t be helped.”

“You won’t even carry a blade. How could you ever defend yourself here?”

Selden’s ire was being stoked. “I won’t argue... And you will obey.”

These were direct words and Geoffrey was galled by them. He raised his voice, “Don’t you feel the tension here? The resentment the First People hold toward us?”

“Quiet! I told you–”

“I will not be quiet,” though he did lower his voice. “I’m entitled to my argument.”

“I’m entitled to your obedience.” Selden stared.

“I’ll cut us firewood with Rian. He’s offered. He’s the obedient one, I can tell. The good one who’ll– ”

“Geoffrey, listen, please.”

The young man was already standing, waiting for leave, breathing deeply, simmering, waiting for the boil.

“I’m sorry.” It wasn't so hard to be kind, Selden thought.

The young man's stance softened. “I can’t change your mind?”

“No... The firewood will be most appreciated. And then we can discuss our plans.”

“Yes, master.” And the young man received Selden’s blessing and headed to the village square to seek out Rian at his father’s smithy.

Selden thought, “A fierce lad. Loyal and good-hearted. As stubborn as I was, and maybe more.”

My schedule.

I've become a bit erratic in my posting, I'm afraid. I hope no one minds. As long as I post at least one good passage a week, I'm pleased, but I like this story and where it's heading and when I have a free moment I like to get further along.

Twenty-eight

Selden marveled, “Everything has come naturally to Rian.”

“Sit with him, and you’ll see there’s no guile or invention in the boy.”

“I have. I sense it.”

“Yes, of course... Maybe I’m growing tired.”

“Primus, I’ll return in the morning. Or call for me if you need anything.”

“Rian stays with me. And Nurse hovers close. As does the bird.”

“This bird, Primus...”

“You’ll see.”

Selden turned to face the night and he felt the faintest presence. That was true.

“Good night, Gereon.”

And the bishop slept.

Twenty-seven

“So the boy asked me to see the woman,” Gereon recounted, now speaking aloud. He paused. And the sky took on the colors of dusk in the early spring. The blue shadows had grown long and the bud break seemed encased still in ice.

Selden listened closely as the bishop told the tale, though he couldn’t help but feel slightly impatient hearing a story so dated and unimportant. Every boy comes of age.

But the bishop spoke up and said, “And I told him, 'no.'”

Selden hid his surprise.

“I was disgusted by what I had heard about the woman. Disgusted by what she had been reduced to, and disgusted that she reveled in the scandal of it. I made excuses to Rian. The healall will know what’s best... The trip would be a long way for me... He saw through it all, of course. He stood up and asked, ‘You won’t help her?’ and I said, ‘No.’"

“'I will,' he told me.”

“I warned him of the village talk, his parents’ disappointment.”

“And he told me–I still hear the rebuke. He said, ‘Every one has proved faithless; all alike are turned bad; there is none who does good; no, not one.’ And he turned and strode away, each footstep wounding me. Past the churchyard he went, and then I called him before he passed through the hedge. I called with the Gift.”

“Yes, I see. And he heard you,” Selden said.

But Gereon talked over Selden’s murmuring, “He turned and stared back at me. Not defiant, but unbending and, truthfully, ashamed for me.”

“I told him, ‘I’ll go,’ and the rustle of the beech trees shimmered and I seemed delivered to the boy. He wasn’t ashamed as much as grieved, and now he shone with certainty. ‘Wait for me,’ I said. ‘Yes, I’ll lead you,’ he told me, and I followed up the creek where Ava was as sour as vinegar and Rian was the sweet balm."

Twenty-six

“Just help me up,” Ava said.

“You need more help than I can give,” Rian told her. “You’re badly hurt.”

“Goddamn him,” and she sighed so deeply. Rian felt her spirit nearly broken, but the anger burned.

“I would give thanks that you’re alive.”

“Would you?”

Rian ignored the sarcasm, but he was chastised, too. “I mean ... Will he come back?”

“No.”

It was true. He could have killed the woman. Instead ...

“Likely he’ll run,” Rian agreed.

“Run? From what? From justice?”

Rian leaned forward just a bit and told Ava, “From you.”

Ava couldn’t help but laugh, but the laughter made her ribs ache and sharpened her temper.

“I’ll cut his balls off,” she said. “I will!”

“I don’t doubt it.”

“Don’t,” and she fumed.

“Let’s get you cleaned up ... and then I’ll look for help.”

“No, no! Get along. I’ll want another woman to help me.”

Rian was quiet, glancing nervously around the hut, not wanting to say what had to be said.

“Get along then,” she repeated.

So Rian told her, “The women won’t come.”

“No?” She closed her eyes. “No ... they won’t. You’re right.”

“My mother will come ... if I ask–”

“No, don’t be foolish.”

Rian was grateful, but his head began to spin again. He forced himself to breathe deeply. “What have I done coming here?” he asked himself. “I’ve embarrassed everyone.”

But we do what we must, Rian knew. He knew what would come next and said aloud, “The healall’s gone up the lake. I saw her go. She’ll be back tomorrow. Late, she said.”

“Yes.”

“So I’ll bring Pater.”

“A priest?!”

“He’s the one to mend you.”

“Bugger a priest.”

“Please, don't--"

“Please? That bastard will be the last to come!”

“He’ll come. He’ll come. He’s a good man–”

“A good man! A eunuch more like, full of words and empty of sense ... or pity.”

“He’ll come.”